Pull of the Moon
by pinkswallowsun
Summary: 'Sometimes, you sit perfectly still for hours at a time, watching the gentle rising and falling of her chest, the inspiration and expiration as her lungs fill with oxygen and release the carbon dioxide out again.' Harry reflects on the love of his life- birthday present for Claire : 3


Sometimes, you sit perfectly still for hours at a time, watching the gentle rising and falling of her chest, the inspiration and expiration as her lungs fill with oxygen and release the carbon dioxide out again. Her breathing turns shallow as anything when she's in a deep slumber, so much so that occasionally you find yourself having to lie down beside her just to be sure she's still there, heart still beating, still yours. Stupid, you know, but you manage to justify it to yourself in those few moments when you feel the need to do it. You've had to fight long and hard to win her, have her in your life, to earn the right to love and to cherish her, call her yours and feel her love in return. You've been through a lot together, the two of you, seen and experienced things most are never forced to confront in their lifetimes. And yet against the odds you've won her, her spirit, her heart, her soul, claimed her as yours forevermore. You know she'll always be yours.

But after all the battles and the heartache and the traumas you've faced in the years leading up to her becoming yours forever, you've come to the conclusion that it's only natural to feel insecure once in a while. You don't want to lose her, want to hold her close to your heart as often as you possibly can and keep her safe forever and ever.

That's easier said than done when she's awake. She's so independent; too much so, you think sometimes. You wish she would let you do a little more for her on occasion, but she won't, you know that. She's so full of life, so passionate in everything she does, always has been. That's one of the things you love about her; you wouldn't have it any other way. But it does worry you, just a little, only very rarely. Mostly after an awful case at work which reminds you all too much of her, after a PM on a victim whose still, lifeless form resembles hers just a little too much.

Those nights are the ones on which you sit beside her and watch her breathing, maybe hold her hand a little if she seems sound enough asleep. You'll turn it over in your own and smile a little, observe the slight turn of her mouth into a soft, shy smile as she dreams of a world all of her own. Sometimes she talks a little in her sleep, that slight South African accent creeping into her voice loud and clear as she mumbles to herself. Each time it takes you a little by surprise, that harsh, Afrikaans drawl from her mouth; while awake her voice is usually so soft, so crystal-clear and English rose, each syllable delicately formed pronunciation perfect, clear as day. It's as if there's another part to her which only emerges in those periods of blissful unconsciousness, makes itself apparent only when she's at peace, relaxed, when she feels safest and securest. You don't mind it, you find it endearing, just a little adorable. Of course she's adorable, she's yours, how could she not be?

Sometimes she'll stir a little in her sleep, fidgeting awkwardly, moaning a little, ever-so-slightly distressed, the frantic flutter of her eyelids visible even in the dark. The first few times you watched her sleep it unnerved you a little; you thought she was awakening, scared and confused, seeing you but too half asleep to recognise you. By now though, years later, you understand that's not the case at all. When her dreams turn from pleasant to nightmarish her eyes begin to flutter, as though she's trying to pull herself from the emotional torment of her dreams but can't quite break away.

Even now, it's just a little heart breaking to watch.

The nights when this happens, you're deeply glad you stayed up watching her sleeping, because otherwise you would have been powerless to help her. You take her hand, gently but firmly, hold her close, whisper soothing words in her ear. Then you stroke her hair, calm her, watch as her eyelids cease to flutter and her breathing levels out, her body curling a little towards the warmth of your own. That's when you know she's calm, at peace, nightmare ended and back in the peaceful state of dreaming where she should be. It's only at that point, once you know she's calm and settled, that you allow sleep to overcome you too.

You can't stand to see her in any pain, emotional or physical. She's all yours, one of the few people you truly, truly love in the world; you know she loves you back. She's too precious to you; you can't let her suffer, even for a few moments at the hand of an unpleasant dream. She's been through enough pain, as you remember only too well, enough pain to last her a lifetime.

Still you can't quite forgive yourself for not being there each and every time to protect her, hold her close and keep her safe forever, even though in your rational mind you know on many of the occasions there was nothing you could have done. All that matters is you're here now, and she's finally yours, all yours forever and ever no matter what comes your way.

Next time, you vow these times when you sit watching her sleep, next time… well, there won't be a next time. You'll never leave her again if that's what you have to do, not even for a fraction of a second. You refuse to let her experience any pain ever again, refuse to let her suffer even the slightest bit, even though deep down you know that's impossible. But it makes you feel better, vowing to protect her forever, pretending like it's a realistic goal.

Forever and ever.

And that goes for the both of them.

_**The moon was high in an autumn sky,**_

_**The light cast down and you came outside,**_

_**And the night filled the dark with a thousand stars,**_

_**Proving nothing was better than where we are.**_

_You stand on the balcony of your apartment- 'your' plural now, the singular banished from this context forevermore- gazing up at the night sky alone for the moment. It's a cold November night, autumn beginning to turn to winter, the chill of the wind making you shiver just a little. She's taking her time to come out and join you; she always does, always late. Always making you late now, you realise. She waltzed into your life as if she'd been there all along, fitted right in in an instant, and proceeded to wrap herself around your heart until you could no longer imagine life without her. _

_Now you think about it, she might not have been there all along, but she's certainly been in your life in this capacity for a whole lot longer than your relationship spans from. You've been together since the moment each laid eyes upon the other, you muse, even if neither of you realised it until not so long ago. _

_You hear her footsteps behind you, the unmistakeable clonking of her heels on the metal floor of the balcony. You'd recognise that sound anywhere, it's so distinctive, somehow differentiating itself from the sound patterns of every other woman in heels in the whole of London, whole of Cape Town… whole of everywhere the two of you have ever ventured together. How is that possible? It may sound impossible, slightly ridiculous, even, but you know it to be true. There have been plenty of occasions before now when you've been stood restlessly in a crowded place waiting for her; corridors outside courtrooms, Kensington Olympia, hospital waiting rooms occasionally, god forbid, and still you hear her coming over the sounds of all the other women in heels in the vicinity; you pick out her footsteps above them all, know precisely when to turn around and catch her out just as she tries to spring up and surprise you from behind. She'll never succeed in making you jump, catching you out, quite simply because she'll never go anywhere without a pair of those heels. But you don't care. That's one of the many things you love about her. _

_Her footsteps become louder and you time it perfectly, reach out and grab her hands without even needing to turn around. She giggles a little, turns you around, pulls you in close to hug you tight and kiss you softly, your arms around her waist as you return her kiss. Her lips taste of roses and vanilla and cherries and a warm summer's day, despite the November cold and the dark autumn skies. She's your ray of sunshine and hope in the dark, depressed evening, all that you want, all that you need. And as you stand there with her, no words needed to communicate the bliss and the perfect completeness of this moment, night sky filled with stars and the moon shining bright, each of you know there's nowhere the other would rather be._

_Not now._

_Not ever._

_For all of eternity._

_**In the pull of the moon and the weight of the stars,**_

_**You anchor me with all that you are,**_

_**Like the stemming of the tide, the moon's attraction to the sea,**_

_**You are, you are all of these things.**_

Somehow she always knows exactly what to say and to do to make you feel better at any given moment.

No matter what the problem, however great or small, you can always rely on her to be there for you when you need her most. Sometimes she presents you with a solution, one you would never have thought of yourself, helps you see the world in a new, vibrant light, sets your brain into motion as you explore this new avenue of enquiry she's presented you with, often completely unintentionally and unknowingly. On other occasions, there's no solution to be found; it's all hopeless, and the only thing to be done about it all it to learn to accept things for what they've become and try to move on.

On these occasions, she somehow knows exactly what you need her to do in order for you to feel just a little bit better, even when you don't know what you need yourself. She's your angel, you truly believe that.

Your little angel, with her uncanny yet heavenly ability to make everything better.

She's enough to make you believe in a heaven, a god, even though until she came into your life for real you dismissed the whole notion as rubbish. Now you're not so sure. She has done that to you, all by herself she has caused you to question things you'd previously taken for granted. She's changed you over the years; every now and then it dawns on you just how much she has transformed you for the better and it takes you a little by surprise.

Did she mean to? You don't know, but you doubt it. She's one of these people who seems to see the good in everything, most of the time, at least. Sometimes the world gets even to her, and that's when you know things are bad, really bad. But the majority of the time she's so full of life, her smile heavenly, welcoming, adorably happy and fresh. She looks at you with those eyes so wide, heart so free and you can't help but fall in love with her all over again, don't know how anyone couldn't. And she's yours. She's all yours forever and ever; no one can take her from you, this little angel. People have tried, you recall bitterly, but no matter what's happened in the past you've always gotten her back in the end, kept on fighting for her.

Because you need her. You need her in your life to make it worth living. She has a way of cheering you up that the rest of the world is yet to master, a curious look in her eyes when she's in deep thought that you've learnt to love with all your heart. She's kept your feet on the ground many a time, sometimes deliberately, sometimes completely by accident.

But whatever it is that makes her so perfect, so special, you know you know you can always rely on her to make it OK. Because however much you depend on her, she depends on you too, you know she does. You need each other, the two of you; the bond between you is unbreakable. You have a connection which nothing and no one can possibly break, not ever, a reason for living in each other which stems far beyond simply going through the motions.

Sometimes you'll come home from work after a particularly hard case and you'll just hold her, open your arms and your heart and allow her in to fix the broken, traumatised pieces. Each and every time she does it perfectly, looks up at you with those wide perfect eyes that remind you there is still good in the world. She's been through so much and yet she's emerged from it all a good person, a kind person, a loving person. And she's yours. You don't even have to tell her what's wrong, what's making you so upset, but she doesn't question, doesn't falter. She seems to understand that you don't always want to tell her, don't want to burden her with it, even though both of you know she's most likely seen much worse. There are still periods of her life, before you, before now and the perfect nature of everything that's existed since she came into your world, of which you know nothing about. But that's OK. You know enough. You know that she's yours now and she's perfect and loving and caring and willing to give it all to you, so what does the rest of it matter?

All that matters is she makes it better, always.

She makes everything better.

And that goes for the both of them.

_**A tea kettle whistle deep within a home, **_

_**As a radio sings a song it's sung countless times before,**_

_**And I step outside with a searching heart,**_

_**To save up wishes as we look above.**_

_She puts down whatever she's doing when she hears the front door open and practically runs across the hallway to greet you, calls your name with her voice full of happiness and pleasure at having you home at last as she throws her arms around your neck. You lift her off the ground a little and she giggles, kicks her legs about gently, teasingly until you place her feet back down on solid ground. _

_And then she looks at you. Then she looks at you and sees the sorrow in your eyes, the anger and the disbelief that humanity can be so damn evil. And she stops. _

_She says your name again, gently, carefully this time, and takes your hands as she looks right into your eyes, concerned. _

"_What's wrong?" Her accent is even more prominent when she's concerned. As time has gone by in recent years it's morphed into a curious combination of crystal-clear South-West Londoner and Cape Townian South African, distinctive and slightly odd-sounding perhaps to someone not used to it, but undeniably cute. _

_You sigh a little, wrap your arms around her tightly and pull her in so close you're half-convinced you can feel her heart beating in time with your own. That's wonderfully reassuring, you realise, it reminds you that you're not alone. The thought of her being so perfectly in synch with you right down to the steady rhythmic beating of her heart makes you feel so safe and secure, allows you to believe that she's yours forever, never going to leave you. Not even for a moment. _

_She ends up being the one who breaks the embrace. She pulls away from you slowly and tilts her head just slightly to the side, takes your hand and leads you right into the house, sits down on the sofa and waits for you to copy her move. How can she possibly be so understanding, so caring? You don't know, but the mere knowing that she's one in a million makes you love her even more. _

"_Tell me?" It's half a question, half a plea. She wants to understand why you're upset, wants to know what's happened in case it helps her in her new-found mission of working out how to help. _

_But you won't tell her, of course. How can you tell her? How could you possibly even begin to tell her that you're upset because you're trying and failing to get your head around the mere idea of a father murdering his little girl in cold blood? You would never, ever tell her anything like that, wouldn't want to upset her, wouldn't want to cause her to dream, to worry, to fear. You could never do that to her, no matter how much she begged you to explain. _

_And so you give her the edited highlights. It's a compromise technique you've become a master of over the last few years; tell her enough to keep her happy but in such a way it doesn't terrify her, overwhelm her. _

_Sometimes it's easy to forget how vulnerable she still is. She comes across as wise beyond her years in conversation with her, time after time, so much so that it's easy even for you to forget that she's still only a baby really. She's not ready to deal with the cruelties of the world just yet, not in the slightest, and until she is it's your responsibility to shelter her from it all as best you possibly can. To tell her your troubles exactly how they are, watershed-free, and aid her in making you feel better would only make her feel a thousand times worse than you ever did to start with, and what would that achieve? _

_Nothing, that's what. _

_And so you tell her that something horrible happened at work today, that you're helping the police catch somebody who did something very, very bad. You chose your words, your emphasis carefully, hold her hand tightly in yours and watch her face to gage her reaction, ready to stop if necessary. _

_But she takes it. She's strong, unshakable; you think sometimes, nothing seems to faze her too much. Maybe you're just good at editing out the gory, horrific details to the point of perfection, or perhaps she's just stronger than you ever give her credit for. But either way, she sits there listening gravely through your explanation, face sympathetic, understanding, and when the whole sorry tale is over she takes one look at you and realises exactly what you need in an instant. She curls up on your lap, stretches herself out across you like a content little cat in the sun, rests her cheek on your hand in hers. _

"_But not you and me." It's a statement, not a question; it could so easily have been a question asked at entirely the wrong moment were she anyone else. But she's not anyone else, of course, she's her, she's your perfect angel. Your perfect little angel, the one who always knows exactly what to say to make you feel better, any given moment in time. _

"_No," you agree. "Not you and me."_

_And with that established, content from your response that you've understood her point, she turns over on your lap and looks right up at you with her wide blue eyes, a pair of shining sapphires in the dark. _

_You know what's coming next, of course. This is a routine the pair of you have run through together countless times before, a ritual you know so well that it's comforting, welcoming and filled with happiness all at the same time. _

"_Love you."_

"_I love you too," you tell her with feeling. This is part of your ritual, the same every time, but still it fails to lose its meaning no matter how many times you run through it together. That's a testimony to the strength of the bond between you both, you conclude each time with the same thankful smile. You love each other. You'll never take that for granted, neither of you. _

_Not ever._

"_Daddy?" Her voice turns teasing now as you enter this second, light-hearted phase of the ritual, wriggles a little and repositions herself in preparation. In her mixed up, messed up accent her 'a's come out as 'e's, her question posed to 'Deddy', not to 'Daddy'. Not that you care. Somehow that makes you feel as if she's all yours even more. _

"_Yes?" You ask her gently in that same teasing tone. _

_She grins at you now, reaches out to grab your feet and pulls off your socks, nose screwing up in disgust for a moment before throwing them to one side and moving to tickle your feet, giggling with delight and amusement as you laugh hysterically, try to pull away from her to no avail. _

"_Daddy?" She asks teasingly in her perfect little mixed up accent. "Does that tickle?"_

_**In the pull of the moon and the weight of the stars,**_

_**You anchor me with all that you are,**_

_**Like the stemming of the tide, the moon's attraction to the sea,**_

_**You are, you are all of these things.**_

She's so beautiful. She's a beautiful person inside and out, there's no denying that. Sometimes you look at her and you have to pause and reflect for a moment; can't quite work out how you got lucky enough to have someone so perfect and special in your life. She has a heart so caring, so full of love, that you know you'll never be alone as long as you have her. She has a way of looking at you which speaks a thousand words, displays her love and affection for you in a matter of nano seconds. You know she needs you just like you need her.

That knowledge allows you to rest easy somehow. You know that you'll never ever lose her as long as she needs you as much as you need her. As long as she needs you there's comfort and security that the perfect nature of here and now will last a lifetime, no matter what. Because you don't care what comes your way, you honestly don't.

Not as long as you have her.

Sometimes she looks at you with those wide, perfect eyes and your heart melts just a little bit more. That look alone is enough to make you want to pull her into your arms and hold her tight and protect her from the cruelties of the world. She's so perfect and kind-hearted and angelic and she's yours, that's what you love about her most. She's yours. You can watch her disappear off into the distance, long curls fanning out behind her, and know for certain that she's coming back to you, wouldn't be going anywhere else. She's yours, she belongs with you. Surely that must make you the luckiest man alive.

You'll love her forever, right until the end of time. You'll never take her for granted, cherish her forever, you know that. You'll look back on these times when you're grey and old and not regret a moment, because she's yours and she's perfect and she always, always will be.

And that goes for the both of them.

_**So the sky dismissed the stars and the night became unseen,**_

_**The sun woke from its slumber and the moon packed up its things,**_

_**Singing: the only way to love is to know it might be lost,**_

_**So take hold lightly, let go lightly, whatever the cost.**_

You sit in the auditorium alone at first, empty seat beside you saved with a programme and her scarf as the seats begin to fill. Just one more seat, you only need to reserve one seat today, not the usual two. You glance around a little expectantly in between checking your watch, knowing she'll be appearing from the side of the stage any moment now; she has to be, just 5 minutes until the whole thing starts.

Then again, it's just like her to be late.

Another minute goes by and you cease your glancing around impatiently, take the programme from the seat beside you and flick through the pages, pausing to run your fingers across her name when you find it there. You smile a little then, proud, overwhelmed with love and accomplishment and another strange but incredible feeling you can't quite explain. Whoever could possibly have seen what you are today? Perfect. Complete. Blissfully happy, and so much more. Your angel might be growing up fast, but still it's all only just beginning.

Someone is tapping at your shoulder eagerly, a little nervous but gently, lovingly. You know exactly who it is. You smile, look up from the programme, pull her down into the seat you've saved for her beside you and greet her with a kiss. You hold her passionately, hopelessly in love just as you were right at the start of your relationship eleven years ago, before pulling away just a little, arms still around her shoulders.

"She OK?"

"She's fine," Nikki responds, calm, reassuring as she pulls off her coat and drapes it over the back of her seat. "Little bit nervous but you need some adrenaline for this sort of thing, don't you? That's what I've told her, anyway."

"You do," you promise her, smiling a little as her perfect features relax. "She'll be fine, I promise, she'll love it. Not too much make up?"

"Not too much make up, I promise," Nikki smiles, rolling her eyes a little; this has become something of a joke between you over the last year or so. "Barely any. It's only stage make up, it's not like we're letting her go out to the park made up like she's 20 something, are we? Have you found her in the programme?"

"Just here." You place the programme on her lap and point out your daughter's name, fingers skimming just below the print. 'Joycelin Cunningham, Pull of the Moon.' A part of you suspects you're even more nervous than your daughter; she seems to take this sort of thing in her stride while you, her father, worry enough for the both of you, worry she'll freeze and forget what she's doing or trip and fall and burst into tears. Maybe you need to have a little more faith in her.

"She'll be OK, won't she?"

Nikki just smiles, leans in closer and presses her lips to yours, giving you an answer no words could ever possibly express, no matter how carefully chosen. Her warm embrace and the feel of her lips against yours tells you everything you could possibly need to know.

Of course she will be.

It's half way through the first act before your daughter appears. She glides out onto the stage with all the elegance and grace of a peacock, stretches to the skies with the confidence of only a child as she dances her way across the stage, perfect pirouettes followed by leaps and extensions and a hundred more complicated steps whose names refuse to stick in your head no matter how hard you try to stick them there when she demonstrates around the kitchen for you. But that doesn't matter.

You don't need to know the names of the steps she's performing so beautifully to know she's perfect, just like the mere feel of her mother's hand in yours is enough to make you certain you'll have her forever.

The two most important people in your life.

You need them both. Your perfect angels.

Then she turns her head and smiles at you, and your heart fills with the familiar, wondrous love once more.

You'll love her until the end of time.

And that goes for the both of them.

_**In the paleness of the porch light; we became drowned in all these things,**_

_**You anchor me with all that you are,**_

_**Like the stemming of the tide, the moon's attraction to the sea, **_

_**You are, you are all of these things.**_

**For Claire, because it's her birthday today and her writing is amazing :) Hope you have a fantastic day and all your birthday wishes come true 3**

**Hope it wasn't too confusing! The song is Pull of the Moon by Jodie Manross, it's worth a listen, it's so beautiful. Joycelin's dance is based on Nina Choi's solo to the same song, you'll find it on youtube if you type in 'Nina Choi Pull of the Moon', but I'll also put a link on my profile :)**

**As ever, reviews would be amazing, and I promise a Lighthouse update soon. And once again, happy birthday Claire, I hope you enjoyed it! **

**Love Flossie xxx**


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